Arthur Bingley, renowned monster hunter of London.

For over two decades, he has protected the vibrant city from any monsters that dared to seek refuge in the shadows. There were always monsters hiding, but during Halloween, they became more rampant. He'd always be prepared for this ominous day; setting more traps than usual, bringing extra silver bullets for his gun, additional wooden stakes for his crossbow, thick nets for the airborne, and a silver cross just for good measure. But this specific Halloween came with an unforeseen event.

After hearing the familiar snap of one of his traps going off, he swiftly approached the captured entity, his crossbow poised and ready for action. The trap had ensnared a monster—but a notably young one. A little too young, in fact. He hesitated, lowering his crossbow; the notion that monsters could reproduce had never crossed his mind; he had always assumed they emerged from the darkest recesses of... wherever.

For the first time in his career, his humanity prevailed, and he decided to spare this monsterling. The thought of driving a stake through its heart was one he could not bear. Yet, he could not simply abandon it; the trap had inflicted injury to its leg, and leaving it would result in its demise. Thus, with great reluctance, he brought the creature to the log cabin he called home.

Once they arrived at his residence, he found himself at a loss, observing the young monster. He exhibited some compassion by bandaging its injured leg, but his benevolence had its limits. He maintained a distance, arms crossed over his chest, a cigar protruding from the corner of his mouth, and a gun tucked into his jacket lest it try anything funny.

He wasn't entirely sure what the endgame was here; was he to nurture it back to health and set it free, or did he just unintentionally adopt a monster kid? Whatever it was, it went against the past 20 years of his life.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" Arthur asked after a moment, if it could even understand him.